Thief!
by MissMoony7575
Summary: Two thieves, that can never escape each other. A series of Thiefshipping oneshots. Yami BakuraxMarik. Some AU, some not.
1. King of Thieves

Well, I had a couple of ideas for Thiefshipping oneshots so I decided to put them up in one story :)

Some of them will be AU, maybe some will follow the Yu-Gi-Oh! storyline? I'm not sure yet, but we'll see how we go :).

Here's the first one, it's set in Ancient Egypt and is AU.

Hope you guys enjoy :)

-Lauren

PS. Marik is not Yami Marik, but the normal, non-possessed Marik Ishtar :).

x.x.x

Marik could pinpoint the moment it had all started.

It had been an innocent enough day. The Egyptian sun was scorching his brown skin, but he didn't mind. It was a day out with his sister, Ishizu, in the fragrant marketplace, when his father was working and the two children had the day off.

He held her hand tightly and looked up at her with innocent eyes. Marik had only been 7 years old, and every day was like an adventure to him. Especially today. The markets were full of life, people bustling through the crowded alleyways, various arrays of jewellery, food, livestock, and slaves available for sale. The smell of human sweat in the heat of the summer sun pervaded, but Marik didn't mind. He could see the glint of glimmering jewellery, smell the food that was roasting on fires, and everywhere was noisy, merchants shouting, customers shouting, the endless haggling – it was a far cry from the scribe schoolrooms where there was only the soft scratching of pens on papyrus. Here, Marik didn't feel so alone. He could feel the heartbeat of the town merging with his own in the crowded market.

'Don't get lost,' Ishizu warned, her voice soft and mellow. Marik nodded obediently, and gripped her hand tighter.

Ishizu led him through the crowded streets while Marik stumbled clumsily after her, trying not to be swallowed by the crowd.

'Ishizu, I want _that_.' Marik pointed at a pair of golden earrings and looked huffily at Ishizu.

'I have to buy a cow today, Marik, not jewellery,' chided Ishizu gently.

'But...' Marik's bottom lip trembled and he looked as if he were about to cry. Of course, he wasn't. Marik was a fairly good actor and Ishizu was always falling for his tricks.

'No,' said Ishizu firmly. Marik was surprised. Ishizu usually gave in to Marik all the time. 'We don't have the money.'

There was truth in her words. Though their family was learned, and both were training to become scribes, a respected job in society, they were still short on money. Everyone in Egypt was short on money, no matter what job, (that is, except the Pharaoh). There was never enough to go around, even with the fertile soils of the Nile. Only the merchants, who travelled to foreign countries, could ever cross the line between poverty and wealth. Those stuck in Egypt – they had no hope of affording luxuries.

Marik put his hands on his hips but Ishizu simply dragged him along and started haggling with a merchant for a spotted cow.

'THIEF!' the gruff voice of a merchant bellowed. The entire marketplace snapped their heads around and sure enough, on the run was a white-haired teen, about 15 years old. People reached out to apprehend him but he was lithe and athletic, dodging them and then scaling the walls to reach the rooftops, where he jumped from building to building to make his getaway. People looked up and stared, while the merchant shook an angry fist.

Marik stared in awe as the boy jumped right over his head, from one rooftop to the next.

'Here you go!' said the thief, from the rooftop, mid-air, and suddenly, Marik found himself holding the pair of golden earrings he was looking at before. Amidst the kerfuffle of the thief, nobody noticed Marik placing the earrings slowly into his pocket.

Soon, the thief was gone, and Marik was left gawping.

'Who was that?' Marik asked Ishizu, eyes wide with wonder.

'I don't know,' snapped Ishizu. 'But we have to get out of here – the Pharaoh's men will probably be here soon.' She grabbed Marik's hand tightly and led him away.

Later on, in his bedroom, Marik took out the golden earrings from his pocket and held them in his hand. He stared, fascinated.

He had gotten what he wanted. And he didn't have to pay for it.

The beauty of that realisation hit him immediately. That white-haired thief – he didn't have to slave and toil and struggle through life like everybody else. He came in, took what he wanted, and then left, and nobody could touch him. He didn't have to spend hours in the classroom learning to be a scribe! He didn't have to struggle for food!

Everything was there for the taking.

It was just up to you to take it.

That was the start of Marik's thieving career.

x.x.x

Ten years later, Marik had become a master thief.

Ever since that fateful day, he had spent his spare afternoons running laps around his house, testing his stamina, sprinting as fast as he could. He practised stealing at lunch at school, but none of his friends had anything he wanted so he always gave it back. He practiced being sneaky at home – once he followed Ishizu around for a whole night without her noticing, though most of the time he just got shouted at when she finally did realise.

Now, he was able to steal from the marketplace without the merchants even noticing. He would just lean over the table, haggle furiously, and while the merchant wasn't looking, stuff things into his pocket...

Ishizu sometimes asked where all the nice things came from, and Marik knew that she knew the truth, but she never really pressed him too much on the matter. Why would she, when she was receiving golden necklaces and silk clothes? Their father was, of course, oblivious. He didn't care about anything but his scribe work. When Marik told him that he had gotten a bargain at the markets, his father simply believed him.

Their father had passed away recently, a couple of months ago. Ishizu took it hard but Marik got over it quickly. For the first week, he had been sad, but it was like anything in life. Here one moment, gone the next. He bounced back and focused his mind on thievery.

'Where are you going?' Ishizu asked, as Marik slipped out the front door.

'To the markets,' he said honestly. Ishizu was too tired to stop him, and just sighed loudly as Marik shut the front door.

Marik drunk the sunlight in and felt joyful. Today was going to be a good day – he could feel it.

He started off the day with a few simple steals – nothing major.

'I'll give you 400 for it,' he said to a merchant. The merchant shook his head profusely.

'What do you think this is – a charity?' the merchant asked.

_Well, yeah,_ Marik said, as he used his muscular chest to block the sight of his hand grabbing a couple of strawberries.

'Fine. I'll go buy somewhere else,' Marik declared irritably and left the merchant to shout after him.

The day continued much like this until Marik's pockets were bulging, and his lips stained by sweet fruit.

He was content, and ready to call it a day, until he overheard a conversation between two men. They were big and muscular, and intrigued him. They held daggers at their waists and dressed a little better than all the other peasants.

'The boss said we should be there this evening,' said the taller of the two men.

'He'd better give us our pay – that was a hard job we just pulled off,' said the shorter one gruffly.

'Don't be too eager,' warned the taller one. 'Or we might never get initiated into the Den of Thieves.'

Marik's ears perked up. The Den of Thieves? That was a notorious gang of thieves that swept through the city like a tornado but left no trace. Without even a moment's warning, they would arrive – nobody could recognise them for what they were until the next day, merchants and citizens alike found great amounts of wealth missing. The entire populace of Egypt cursed the Den of Thieves, but it seems that it had the opposite effect – they were not riding on a curse, but on the wings of Lady Luck.

'I don't know why he calls himself the bloody King of Thieves,' said the shorter one irritably. 'Who is he anyway?'

'Nobody knows,' said the taller one.

'From what I know, he's just some kid. Couple of years younger than us, apparently. That's ridiculous. He's so young – he would have absolutely no experience!'

'Hey, that's what they all say. Or at least, that's what they say before they get their throats slit by him. This guy is a legend. Nobody can touch him, even though he's so young.'

'Hah. I'd love to see someone put a dent in this guy's ego. Heck, if someone stole something from him... They would be an absolute master.'

Marik's mind began to tick. Steal something from the King of Thieves himself? It was madness. But somehow, the idea made Marik's skin tingle and set his heart beating quickly. It would be the steal of the century. Stealing something from the King of Thieves... would that make him the King of Thieves? Even if this guy wasn't to be messed with, Marik knew that if there was anyone who could knock the King of Thieves off his high tower, it was Marik himself.

He had to give it a go.

Marik was light on his feet, and the two supposed "thieves" were so stupid they didn't even turn around once as Marik followed them. It was getting late, and Marik knew Ishizu would be wondering where he was, but he supposed he would explain in the morning.

This was too good an opportunity to miss out on.

'Where did he say we should meet?' asked the short thief.

'It's just up ahead,' said the taller thief.

They stopped outside a rundown looking shack, identical to the ones around it. There was nothing to tell the houses apart, but the thieves walked confidently up to the door, and knocked with the smart rap of their knuckles. Marik hid in the bushes, watching and waiting.

An ordinary looking man opened the door. Marik was quite disappointed. Surely this was not the King of Thieves?

'The King awaits you inside,' said the man, and Marik was relieved. Once they had entered the house and the door was closed, he emerged silently from the bushes and darted to the side of the house. Pressing himself close to the wall, he crouched down, and sat below a window so that he could hear the conversation.

'Menes, Imhotep,' Marik heard a commanding voice say. The voice sent shivers down his spine. It was raspy and had a foreign tinge to the accent. It sounded like pure power. Surely it was the voice of the King of Thieves. 'It is nice to finally see you here.' Marik could imagine the sneer on the face of the King of Thieves. His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

'It is nice to be here,' said one of the thieves.

'I'm glad you think so,' said the King of Thieves, 'because I'm afraid you will never leave.'

There was a gasp of surprise, and Marik heard the metallic ring of a dagger being unsheathed, two heavy thumps as the bodies of the thieves fell to the ground. It had all happened so quick, Marik suddenly panicked. The King of Thieves had just killed two men in the matter of a few seconds. Why did Marik ever think he could take this guy on?

Marik was dying to know what the King of Thieves looked like, but knew he could not give away his hiding place.

'Dispose of them,' ordered the King of Thieves.

'Yes, sir,' said the other man, and Marik heard the sound of the bodies being dragged away. Briefly he wondered whether their blood had stained the floor.

Then, Marik waited for the King of Thieves to leave. He waited, in agony. He felt his leg fall asleep, but still, the King of Thieves sat still. Marik had no idea what he was doing, but it was taking a bloody long time.

Marik started to panic. Would he be discovered? His hiding place was hardly adequate. Yet if he moved... his legs would probably have the worst case of pins and needles ever documented. There was no way he could make a quick getaway. Plus, the King of Thieves would hear if he even moved a muscle. But if the King of Thieves left the house, and found him crouching by the window...

Marik cursed in his head. He was in deep trouble now.

Finally, he heard the scraping of a chair against the floor, and the almost silent footsteps of the King of Thieves. The lock of the back door jangled as it was unlocked, and Marik breathed a sigh of relief. From the back door, the King of Thieves was unlikely to find him. The King of Thieves strode away, and Marik craned his neck to have a quick look.

Marik couldn't make out much from such a distance, but he knew that the King of Thieves had a head of hair that was white as Egypt's nonexistent snow.

Marik's mind suddenly flashed back to a white-haired boy jumping rooftops, and throwing a pair of golden earrings down...

Marik shook his head. Coincidence. Anyway, he had no time to dwell on it. The King of Thieves could be back any moment, and this was Marik's only chance. He climbed in silently through the window, surprised by the King of Thieves' low security. Marik expected better.

He stepped through the house silently, even though he knew that no one else was around. He scanned the room for the best thing to steal. To be honest, there wasn't much around. Marik expected a wealth of treasures, but all that was here was some food, normal household objects and a few clothes. Nothing of interest, really. Marik was disappointed. Maybe this wasn't the King of Thieves' hideout...

Then he spotted something glinting in a cupboard on the far side of the room. He walked over and found a golden ring buried under a shirt.

_Perfect,_ thought Marik. He pocketed the ring, but before he could turn around, he felt a body slam him into the wall headfirst and the chill of metal at his throat.

Marik gulped. He was in deep shit now. He considered fighting, but from what he could tell, the other person was taller and stronger than him. Plus, there was a knife at his throat. Marik abandoned the idea of fighting and let his body go limp instead.

'Who are you?' asked the voice. Marik felt himself tense up. It was the King of Thieves, that raspy, dangerous voice. Oh, Marik was really screwed now. He wondered what would happen to his body.

'No one,' Marik answered.

'That's a shame,' said the King of Thieves, mockingly. 'You have got some skill. I know you followed those two buffoons here. But you could never outwit me.' Marik felt the blade press closer to his skin, and he felt his heart start to race.

The King of Thieves was going to kill him, and his body would sink to the deepest, darkest depths of the Nile.

Before Marik could understand what was going on, he felt a sharp blow of pain and the whole world dissolved into black.

x.x.x

When Marik woke up, he found himself in a dark room, and found, to his horror, that his hands were tied and the door was locked. He tried to stand up but found that his hands must have been tied to a fixture on the wall. He fought for a couple of minutes, and then gave up, slumped against the wall.

He thought the King of Thieves would have the decency to kill him quickly, but obviously it was going to be a long, drawn-out affair. Marik swore loudly and used the rest of his strength to try and wrench his arms from the rope. All he ended up with were sore arms and exhaustion.

He heard the lock being unlocked, and the door swung open. Marik came face to face with the King of Thieves for the first time.

Admittedly, the King of Thieves was handsome. He had a delicious smirk painted across his face, and deep brown eyes bored into Marik's own. He was young, muscular, and quite tall, but not bulky. His skin was unusually pale for someone living in Egypt, yet, Marik had suspected that he was a foreigner.

The King of Thieves was also exactly the same person that had thrown the golden earrings to Marik that fateful day in the markets ten years ago.

'I see you kept my gift,' said the King of Thieves, walking closer and crouching down to Marik's level. He reached out and touched Marik's earrings.

'You were the thief,' said Marik. 'What's your name?'

Bakura's hand slapped Marik across the face quickly, brutally. Marik felt his cheek sting, but could not fight back. He snapped his head back and glared at the King of Thieves.

'I'm the one asking the questions,' said the King of Thieves savagely.

'Will you hurry up and kill me?' Marik asked cheekily. 'I mean, I didn't know the King of Thieves had so much time on his hands to take hostages. I thought you just slit the throat of whoever so much as looked at you the wrong way.'

'You're wrong,' said the King of Thieves, leaning in closer and cupping Marik's chin in his hand. All Marik's fake bravado dissolved at the touch and he suddenly felt trapped. 'I only slit the throats of the useless ones. The others... I mean, a guy's gotta have some fun, right? I still haven't decided, though – knives or blunt weapons?'

Marik shivered. It wasn't going to be an easy death. He could see it in the thief's icy eyes – pure sadistic glee. Marik wasn't sure how he was going to deal with this.

'I'll be back later with something to clean the blood up once I'm done,' said the King of Thieves. He swiftly punched Marik in the stomach, leaving him winded as he walked away.

Marik's panic reached a peak. He had to get out of here, before this madman could kill him. He needed to escape. But how? He couldn't break the ropes, and all the struggling only gave him bloody wrists.

He had to outwit the King of Thieves.

He waited until a guard opened the door.

Marik put his master plan into action. His eyes were closed and he was completely still. He had managed to get the blood from his wrists all over himself. He waited. Surely the guard would want to know what was going on.

'Oi. Oi! OI! WAKE UP!' shouted the guard. Marik didn't answer. He sensed the guard getting closer, crouching down to look more closely at Marik.

Suddenly Marik's eyes snapped open, he kicked the guard against the wall and spun around as much as the ropes would allow.

'Untie me,' Marik ordered.

The guard coughed, trapped between Marik and the wall.

'No-'

Marik pressed his foot to the guard's neck.

'I'll break your neck,' Marik warned. The guard looked around, but nobody was there to help him. Slowly, he took a knife from his pocket. Marik pressed against the guard's neck, harder. Quickly the guard cut his ropes, and Marik shook himself out of them. He stood up and kicked the guard to the floor.

'Fool,' said Marik. He gave the guard one last quick kick to the head, made sure he was unconscious, and took the keys from his pocket.

Marik let himself out and stole down the corridors quietly. He prayed that he would not encounter the King of Thieves, because though Marik was strong, he was no match for the master thief.

Marik felt tense, and heard footsteps approaching, Quickly he opened the door to a storage cupboard and shut himself in. He peered through the crack and listened to the conversation.

'The prisoner escaped,' said one of the men.

'Well, the boss isn't going to be happy,' said the other.

'Reckon we should get out of here while we still can?' the first man asked. The other nodded and they left swiftly.

Marik opened the cupboard and continued down the corridor, hoping to find a way out. The whole place was a maze, though, and, apparently, underground. There were no windows, just burning torches every couple of metres.

Marik ran through the labyrinth, getting more and more frustrated. He couldn't find his way out, and the clock was ticking. If the King of Thieves found him... he was dead meat.

On a hunch, he opened one of the doors and found, not an exit, but something interesting nonetheless.

It was a luxurious, opulent room, filled with gold and treasures. The sheets were made out of pure silk, and Marik felt intense jealousy as he ran his hands across them. He couldn't even begin to count the ounces of gold in this room. The room had more wealth than most Egyptians could hope to make in a lifetime.

Marik, overwhelmed, had let his guard down and didn't notice another figure entering the room.

'Like what you see?' Marik heard that foreign voice and felt his whole body sink into a state of panic. This was the King of Thieves' room. And Marik was in here. Trespassing. Without a weapon.

He had no chance.

And he had been so close to freedom...

Marik snapped around, but it was too late. The King of Thieves was armed and ready, with a curved dagger and a sharp smirk.

'You – ' Marik couldn't even string together a proper sentence.

The King of Thieves lunged forward first, but Marik managed to duck out of the way. Marik tried to get a punch in the King's side, but missed. The King of Thieves ducked around Marik and had him in a headlock before Marik could react.

'I think I'll go with the knives,' whispered the King of Thieves in Marik's ear.

Marik started to see purple dots in his vision, and felt the oxygen leaving his brain. He struggled, but the thief was too strong. With one final burst of strength, he kicked backwards and by some miracle, managed to hit the King of Thieves in his most vulnerable spot. Out of instinct he let go of Marik.

Marik had two options – fight or flight – and he knew exactly which one he was going to take.

He made a run for the door, but to his horror, found it locked. In desperation he banged on the door and started to scream. He fiddled with the lock, but it wouldn't come undone.

Marik desperately looked around for another exit, but there was none.

The King of Thieves stood up straight again, recovering from his wound already.

Marik ransacked the room for weapons, but all he could find was some old piping in the bathroom that was thick and heavy.

'You're a dead man,' the King of Thieves told Marik, as he stalked closer. Marik held up the piping defensively and stood his ground.

The King of Thieves weaved around Marik's left side, and Marik was too slow to hit him with the piping. The King of Thieves knocked the piping right out of Marik's hands and it made a loud clanging sound as it clattered on the floor.

The King of Thieves inched closer. Marik stepped back, but soon found that he was against a wall.

There was a tense moment of anticipation, of who would make the first move...

Marik went in for a punch to the jaw, but the King of Thieves dodged and hit Marik right in the stomach. Marik doubled over in pain, and the thief took the opportunity to destroy his opponent. He hit Marik on the side of the head, knocking Marik to the ground. Marik felt pain explode in his head, but tried to pick himself up off the ground and ignored the hurt.

The King of Thieves was faster than him, though. He kicked Marik down. Marik felt the pain rack through his body as his back collided with the wall.

The King of Thieves grabbed Marik's wrists with an iron grip and dragged him up, pinning him against the wall.

'So kill me already,' Marik teased. Even in the moments before his death, he couldn't keep his smart mouth shut. Bakura's smirk widened into a smile.

'Not quite yet,' he said, relishing each word, staring derisively down at Marik. Roughly, he lifted Marik off the ground and slammed him against the wall, again and again. Marik could feel the back of his head was sticky with warm blood. He almost passed out, but then he heard the King of Thieves' voice again.

'You're different,' the King of Thieves declared. 'Most of the others are begging for mercy by now.'

'I will never beg,' spat Marik, lifting his tired eyes to meet the King of Thieves' own.

The King of Thieves' handsome face twisted into a smirk. He pulled rope from his pocket and tied Marik's hands above his head, to a fixture in the wall. Marik's feet barely touched the ground, and he felt his body aching as it stretched uncomfortably.

'We'll see about that,' whispered the King of Thieves, into Marik's ear. Marik could feel the thief's hot breath on his neck, and shivered. He was incredibly uncomfortable.

The thief's face was only inches from Marik's own, and before he knew what was happening, he felt hot lips bruise his own. Marik felt firm hands on his chest, pushing him against the wall. Marik tried to struggle, but couldn't escape.

The thief's kiss was demanding, passionate, forceful, but Marik found that he was quite enjoying it. He couldn't do anything to stop the thief, anyway, and anything that delayed his death was a good thing.

'You taste sweet,' breathed the thief, breaking away from the kiss and staring at Marik.

'I stole some strawberries earlier today,' mumbled Marik.

'By the way,' said the King of Thieves, while planting kisses along Marik's neck. 'My name's Bakura.'

Bakura. Bakura. Bakura. Marik said the name again and again in his head, and found he liked it.

'It'll be a nice thing for you to scream later,' said Bakura, with an evil wink, as he resumed kissing Marik.


	2. Coincidence

Okay, here is a second one shot. I have been watching way too much NCIS, I have crime plots running rampant in my head yet all I could come up was this crappy mystery =.=". Oh well, it's not about the crime, it's about the thiefshipping! :P It's another AU, set in any city I guess, why am I telling you this? Just read the story! :)

**NB.** In this story, **Marik** is the normal, non-evil (well he is kinda evil still) Marik, and **Malik** is the crazy bitch inside the Millennium Rod :P. I know it's usually the other way around, but ack, I started these oneshots and everything else with Marik as Marik hikari so I can't change it now so Malik will just have to be the Yami Marik :P.

Hope you like it!

-Lauren

x.x.x

**C O I N C I D E N C E**

'Face it, Marik, your life is like a TV show,' Yugi had once told Marik, as they sat together at a dilapidated bar in the early hours of the morning.

'As if. A TV show this boring would be axed after the first episode,' Marik had argued, but some part of him knew that Yugi had a point. He worked for the New York Police Department, and was a detective specialising in gang warfare. Drugs, prostitutes, gunfights – Marik had seen it all.

His boss was the mysterious and inscrutable Seto Kaiba, a senior detective who had some sort of interesting history that nobody seemed to be able to dig up. He barked orders and abused his employees, but always seemed to be right about cases. Sometimes it infuriated Marik, how Seto was always right, even when he had the most far-fetched ideas. Other times, he was glad he was part of the famous Seto Kaiba's team.

His partner was the comical Joey Wheeler. He was the comic relief character, as Yugi always said. He would laugh and joke throughout the entire case, seem to get no work done, but also provided major breakthroughs in almost all the cases. Joey, with his blonde hair and good physique, would also try to pick up chicks on every case. Marik laughed at Joey's attempts at flirting, but it seemed to work, as every week Joey had a new girl on his arm, and Marik had none.

The kickass, sexy female was Mai Valentine. With golden blonde hair cascading down her back, ample breasts and long, skinny legs, she was quite a distraction at work. It didn't help that she went around in thigh-high boots and a leather miniskirt. Although, this clothing and her sexuality often did help her to gain information during cases. She wasn't a complete airhead, though. She saw through people's pretences and was incredibly perceptive at times. Of course, there were always sparks flying between her and Joey. Marik wondered when all that sexual tension would erupt, but in the grand tradition of TV series, the romance was long and drawn out. They flirted every morning, but by the end of the day, nothing had changed.

Marik was the smart, sensible one. He wasn't the computer geek – that position was reserved for Kaiba's little brother, Mokuba Kaiba, and the lab geek was Tea Gardner. Marik was a different kind of detective. Marik worked hard, and thought laterally about cases. Where nobody else could make a breakthrough, Marik could often sniff a lead from a mile away. The thing was, everybody else thought along the normal patterns of thought. Marik took in all the information, organised it impeccably in his mind, and explored every single possibility, especially the absurd ones that so often were right.

Today, in Marik's TV show life, he was in between two episodes. This plot had been going for far too long. They had found half a dozen people dead across the city, no obvious connection until they dug deeper and found that they were relatives or spouses or partners or friends or enemies of a notorious drug ring. Of course, that spelt trouble, but there was just no way they could link the events, except for the fact that they had all occurred on the same day. The others were convinced that it was just a danger of the career. People in contact with drug dealers were bound to be killed sometime sooner or later. The fact that six of them had died in one day was a simple coincidence.

As Joey had said, 'If they want to do illegal shit, it won't be long before illegal shit is done to them.' He had been very happy with this idea, and Mai was quick to agree. They had only been hitting dead ends. None of the murder techniques were similar, and they weren't all linked to one person... in fact, the drug ring was massive, and the relationships between the victims were almost non-existent.

Seto Kaiba was still sniffing around a little, but in all other respects, the case was basically closed. The murders would be passed on to homicide to deal with separately.

But Marik thought differently. There was no such coincidence, for all these people to die on the same day. True, the cases were all different. The prostitute of a drug dealer was found stabbed to death in an old motel. The mother of another drug dealer had been drowned and her body found in an abandoned boat. A third drug dealer's brother had been strangled. The owner of a convenience store had been shot in a hold up, and happened to be the father of a drug dealer. One drug dealer's wife had been bashed to death. The last was the drug dealer himself that had been shot at while driving and drove off a cliff to her death.

'I'm leaving,' declared Joey, in his thick Brooklyn accent. 'Wanna come?' he asked Mai.

'In your dreams,' spat Mai, casting him a dirty look and exiting the other way with a toss of her flaxen hair.

'Go home, Marik,' Seto Kaiba ordered.

'I'm just catching up on some paperwork,' Marik lied. 'I'll leave in about an hour.'

Seto nodded, and left, then Marik was alone. He tapped his fingers on the desk. There was something not quite right about this... and it was bugging him.

Marik thought of the suspect they had interrogated today. Something about the white haired man called Bakura Touzoku gave Marik chills. Marik had a gut feeling that he was behind this. Marik usually ignored gut feelings – he didn't like guessing, he liked making a decision based on cold hard facts. This time was different, though. He knew something was up with this suspect.

Luckily, he was still in the interrogation room. They were planning to release him tomorrow morning, so Marik luckily had some time to himself to question Bakura Touzoku by himself.

He strode upstairs purposefully, and stepped into the interrogation watching room. He watched the white-haired man. He was sitting calmly at the interrogation table. His eyes... Marik shuddered. They scared Marik. There was something evil and cruel and sadistic about the way Bakura Touzoku looked. Sure, he had a perfect alibi – he had been in court all day, as a witness for a robbery. You didn't get better alibis than that. There was still something off about him.

Bracing himself, Marik took off his suit jacket and went in wearing simply his white work shirt, a black tie, and black pants. He wanted Bakura to see the gun at his hip, so that he would be intimidated.

Marik paused outside the door of the interrogation room, and took a deep breath. Slowly, he pushed the door open.

'So, come to release me from the highest room of the highest tower, my knight?' Bakura drawled, smirking. He still sat at the table, and Marik stepped closer.

'No,' said Marik. 'This is an interrogation.'

'Have I been hallucinating? Because I'm pretty sure I've already been interrogated,' said Bakura caustically.

'Well you're being interrogated again,' said Marik firmly. He took a seat at the table, and curled his hands into fists.

'Where were you –' Marik started, but Bakura interrupted him.

'On the 4th of June, from 9 am to 5 pm? Well I was at court the whole day, as a witness for the robbery of the car of Mr John Smith,' Bakura said, bored.

Marik was beginning to get frustrated. He didn't know where to go with this interrogation. Bakura's defence was impenetrable.

'There have been large amounts of money moving in and out of your bank account,' Marik said, trying to stare down Bakura. It didn't work. Bakura didn't even blink, he just leaned back further in his chair and rested his hands lazily behind his head.

'What can I say? I am a rich man,' said Bakura, smirking.

'You're not a rich man!' Marik said, getting irritated. He stood up and slammed the table. Bakura seemed uninterested and unaffected. 'You're a drug dealer!' Marik shouted.

'Oh? Can you prove that?' said Bakura, smiling. He had the upper hand. Marik was floundering.

'You had something to do with this, damnit!' said Marik, losing his cool. The way Bakura was so cocky, the satisfied smirk on his face... it got on Marik's nerves like nothing else. Marik stalked across the room and paced up and down behind Bakura. Bakura still sat calmly at the table, turning his chair around to face Marik.

'Why are you at the office so late, anyway?' Bakura asked, trying to feed the flame of anger in Marik.

'You have no idea what time it is,' said Marik. 'You must be losing track of time, because it's still only 4:30pm,' Marik lied. It was about 9:30.

Bakura stood up and faced Marik.

Marik noticed that Bakura was taller than him, and had a bigger frame. Marik was strong enough to pass the police requirements, but if he had been up against this drug dealer in the streets, Bakura would definitely have come out on top.

'Oh, sure, I'm going to buy that one,' said Bakura sarcastically. 'It's about 9:30pm right now. Everyone else has gone home, yet you're still here. The doggedly determined detective. That's some nice alliteration. You're not going to release me, because you think I'm suspicious,' said Bakura. 'You're doing this without the rest of your team.'

Marik felt frustration rise in him. Bakura was playing with him – Bakura was conducting the interrogation here, not Marik. He was trying to turn the tables. Marik wouldn't let him.

'You're wrong,' said Marik.

As quick as a viper, without giving Marik time to react, Bakura struck. He landed a well-aimed blow to the stomach and caused the young detective to double over in pain.

Marik panicked. This was turning into a disaster. He got back to his feet quickly, and made a run for the door, but Bakura grabbed him around the waist and held him back in a headlock.

'Poor little detective,' teased Bakura, whispering in Marik's ear. Marik struggled and managed to push Bakura off him, and put as much distance between him and the witness as possible.

Marik quickly looked for his gun, but to his absolute horror, his holster was empty. Where was his gun?

'Looking for this?' asked Bakura, holding Marik's gun casually in his hand. The smirk on his face was unbearably derisive. Marik swore.

Bakura loaded the gun and pointed it straight at Marik's head. Marik's heart was pounding and obscenities were running through his head. He couldn't believe that he was so stupid! He couldn't believe he'd come in here alone, without someone in the watching room. It was against protocol, and this was why. He couldn't believe he'd come in here with a _gun_, as well. Especially since he was up against a trained drug dealer. Why did he think he could break this guy?

'Hands up,' Bakura ordered, grinning evilly.

Feeling defeated, Marik lifted his hands slowly.

'Good boy,' teased Bakura. 'Now come here.'

Slowly, Marik took steps forward. Each one sounded like a bomb dropping in the silence. The look on Bakura's face was killing Marik. He was superior, and he knew it. The handsome white-haired drug dealer was quicker, more skilled, more intelligent, and stronger than Marik. And he had the absolute upper hand in this situation.

Marik was royally screwed.

When Marik was close to Bakura, Bakura grabbed Marik roughly and shoved the gun into Marik's neck. Marik flinched and bit his lip to stop himself crying out. Bakura's spare arm was wrapped around Marik's waist, pulling the two bodies close together.

'Now let's take a walk,' said Bakura, his hot breath making the hairs stand up at the back of Marik's neck. Bakura pressed the gun harder into Marik's neck, and Marik jumped. The involuntary movement made Bakura smile.

'Yeah, you should be scared shitless of me,' said Bakura evilly. 'Now, you take me out the back exit to your car.'

Marik nodded, because that was all he could do.

As he walked down the fire escape stairwell, he wondered how he had managed to get himself into this situation. It was all because of his stupid gut feeling. Marik vowed never to trust his gut again, and to only ever look at the facts.

Yet, it still didn't add up. If Bakura was innocent, he should have just responded to all of Marik's questions truthfully. If Bakura was guilty, he should have just lied to all of Marik's questions. In either situation, it should have been a simple interrogation – a useless, but not life-threatening one. Why would Bakura choose to kidnap Marik?

The stairwell was grey and dilapidated. Nobody used this staircase – they all used the elevator. There was no calling for help.

They reached the car park, and Marik prayed that someone else would be around to save him from this madman. The car park was almost empty, though – everyone else had left at the end of the work day. Marik cursed himself for being a workaholic with a puzzle-solving obsession. He should have just been a doctor like his mother suggested.

They reached Marik's car, which was a black Mercedes C Class, and Bakura finally spoke.

'Unlock it,' he ordered. Marik fumbled around in his pockets, and found the keys. He unlocked the doors with a button, and moved to get in the car. Bakura grabbed him back, his arm tight around Marik's waist.

'Get in the boot,' Bakura ordered.

'No –' said Marik, horrified. He struggled a little, but Bakura's grasp was strong and it only earned him a painful prodding with the gun.

Bakura pushed Marik against the car and leaned over close, trapping Marik and pushing their bodies together. He pointed the gun straight between Marik's eyes. Marik's heart started to race.

'I said, get in the boot,' Bakura repeated forcefully.

Marik, terrified, could only raise his hands and obey. He walked slowly over to the back of the car, held at gunpoint, and opened the boot. He climbed in slowly, staring hatefully at Bakura.

'Good boy,' teased Bakura, smirking. Marik cursed himself for buying a stupid Mercedes sedan instead of a big four wheel drive. The last thing he wanted to do was be locked in a car boot.

'You'll pay for this,' Marik warned.

'Oh, I'm sure,' said Bakura sarcastically. 'Have fun!' He smiled evilly down at Marik and slammed the boot shut.

Marik felt claustrophobia tighten its clammy hands around him, but he tried to shake it off. He couldn't be in here for long... surely? Bakura must have wanted something with him. He wouldn't leave Marik in here to die... or would he?

The car purred as it started, and Marik tried to get into a comfortable position, but the confines of the car seemed to be closing in on him, closer and closer every time he moved. Eventually he stayed still and tried to breathe.

Marik cursed. The boot only had so much air. Marik did not want to suffocate to death. He forced himself to stay calm. Panicking would only make things worse.

He could hardly stay calm, however, when he felt the air running out. Bakura had been driving for a long time – Marik couldn't keep count but he knew that every part of his body was aching and the air felt stuffy. Marik choked, and tried to keep the panic down, pushing it down like someone with heartburn pushes the bile back down. It was difficult, however, when the loss of oxygen was getting to his head and his head felt light and the world was spinning...

To his relief, the car boot snapped open and he looked up to see the face of Bakura, sneering at him.

'Did you enjoy the ride?' asked Bakura meanly.

Marik opened his mouth but found that he could not speak, he was too busy trying to breathe.

'Get out,' Bakura said. Marik tried to, but found that he couldn't move.

'You little weakling,' said Bakura. He reached in and pulled Marik out, the muscles in his arms showing themselves. Marik slumped against Bakura, and his knees refused to hold his weight.

Bakura huffed angrily.

'I wouldn't have chucked you in the boot if I had known you would become this useless,' he said irritably. He picked Marik up, and slung him over his broad shoulders. Marik was dangling upside down, and felt the blood rushing to his head. He was dizzy and disoriented. As far as he could tell, he was in some sort of garage, but his vision was blurry and he felt as if he could pass out at any moment. He was in no state to fight back against this strong man, so let his body go limp and tried to stay conscious.

He was thrown roughly into a small, bare room. Marik felt the carpet burn his skin, but he could only lie on the ground and watch Bakura.

'What do you want with me?' he managed to ask, his voice cracking.

'Wouldn't you like to know?' said Bakura, smirking. He grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and placed it in the middle of the room. He grabbed a chunk of Marik's hair and dragged him to his feet. Marik yelped in pain and tried to fight off Bakura, but his movements were slow and lethargic and he could only let himself be pulled up. Bakura shoved Marik roughly into the chair and proceeded to tie his hands behind his back. Marik was too tired to put up a fight, and so let Bakura bind him to the chair.

When Bakura was done, he stepped back.

'Poor damsel in distress,' mocked Bakura.

'What do you want with me?' Marik asked angrily, regaining some of his vigour. 'What is the meaning of all of this?'

'I suppose I should explain it to you,' said Bakura, grinning evilly. He started to walk around the room. Marik strained against the ropes to try and watch Bakura, but he was right behind him and leaned in closer to whisper in Marik's ear.

'Well, just so you know, all those murders, it _was_ me. You're a smart little detective, you should be proud of yourself,' said Bakura in a sickly sweet voice.

'How – how did you do it?' was all Marik could manage to ask.

'Oh, I have connections. I _was_ in court all day,' said Bakura.

'Why, though?' Marik asked.

'Why would a sweet boy like me kill five people?' Bakura asked innocently.

'What was your motive?' snapped Marik. Even here, in the jaws of death, he wanted to solve the puzzle. Marik briefly wondered whether there was something wrong with him, psychologically.

'I'm in the drug dealing business, so you make enemies. These drug dealers hurt my business. They encroached on my territory. It's hard being an independent business in this world of big franchise companies,' he said, chuckling. 'I couldn't kill the actual dealers, otherwise that'd be like declaring war on the entire drug ring. So I hurt the ones they loved the most, to show them that I'm not going to put up with their bullshit.'

'You hired contract killers to kill the loved ones of enemy drug dealers?' Marik asked incredulously. He had to admit, everything fit with Bakura's story. Why tell Marik the truth, though?

'Yeah, but I'm kept the last one for myself,' said Bakura, breathing in Marik's ear. Marik shuddered involuntarily.

'But – but all of the murders were committed between 9 and 5 – and you were in court!' said Marik, confused.

'Who said I've killed the last one yet?' whispered Bakura slowly. Marik suddenly realised what Bakura meant. Everything had come together, and Marik finally realised why Bakura had kidnapped him.

He was the last victim.

Panic coursed through his body, and he struggled violently against the ropes.

'HELP!' Marik shouted, but he was quickly muffled by a calloused hand.

'Nobody can hear you here,' cooed Bakura.

'Mm mmm mmm!' Marik tried to shout, but Bakura's hand was firm against his face.

'You know, it was kind of a coincidence. I had six targets. The first five were easy, but the last one was quite hard. He seemed to have nobody close to him that I could hurt. Then I realised that he was living a double life. I followed him back to his house, and what did I find? A boyfriend. I couldn't get close, however. I decided to leave the last one for later, and set the first five murders into motion. Then I get called into the police station for all of it, and who do I find? The boyfriend of the sixth drug dealer. Beautiful coincidence.'

Marik was still struggling, but to no avail. Bakura laughed at Marik's attempts to free himself. Something in Marik's mind ticked. It didn't add up. There were six murders, not five. And, he had no connection with any drug dealers.

'I don't know any drug dealers!' Marik protested, when Bakura removed his hand from Marik's mouth.

'That's what you think,' said Bakura. 'You're a cop, he's a drug dealer. Of course he'd want to keep it from you.'

'No – not Malik!' said Marik, his eyes growing wide. 'It can't be. Malik's a social worker.'

Marik had met Malik when one of his friends had gotten on the wrong side of the law. Marik was investigating, and had taken a liking immediately to the tall, muscular, tanned blonde. Malik had flirted with Marik the whole time, and showed that he wasn't just an angelic social worker. His devilish side had become particularly apparent in bed.

'Have you ever been to his workplace?' Bakura asked.

'No...' said Marik.

'Did he ever come back injured for no reason?' Bakura asked.

'Yes – but he said that it was someone he was helping, that they were in a bad gang and as he escorted them to their car, he was shot...' Marik's voice faltered as he realised that what Bakura was saying was absolutely true.

'For a detective, you're awful at picking up clues,' chastised Bakura. 'You're no Sherlock Holmes.'

'Let me go!' Marik demanded, fuelled to escape by the sudden realisation.

'I don't think I will,' said Bakura, smiling evilly. 'Let's give your beloved Malik a call, so he can see you in your last moments.'

Marik screamed, but Bakura was unperturbed. He pressed a button and the wall receded to show a TV screen with a webcam on the top. Bakura had started the video call to Malik's number, and soon enough, Marik saw his boyfriend appearing on the left side of the TV screen, while the camera feed of him and Bakura was on the right.

'Who is this – Marik!' Malik exclaimed.

'Hello, Malik,' said Bakura. He had the gun pointed at the side of Marik's head, and Marik was still struggling. 'It's nice to see you again.'

'Bakura...' said Malik darkly. 'You put one finger on Marik...' he warned.

Bakura just smirked, and poked Marik in the arm with his index finger.

'Oh, so what are you going to do now? I'm quaking in my boots,' said Bakura sarcastically.

'He has nothing to do with this,' said Malik. 'Leave him out of it.'

'He has everything to do with you,' said Bakura. 'Therefore he is involved.'

'Malik!' Marik cried out in a pained voice.

'Marik –' said Malik.

'You lied to me,' Marik accused.

'Oh, this a tragic love story,' drawled Bakura. 'Betrayal, lies, deceit – Marik, are you questioning whether he ever truly loved you?'

'SHUT UP!' bellowed Malik. 'Marik, I can explain –'

'I don't need you to explain, I need you to get me out of here!' shouted Marik. 'This psycho is going to kill me.'

'I believe the politically correct term is "mentally ill",' said Bakura, smirking.

'Bakura – if you want me off your turf, I'll do it. I won't even come close to you. I'll leave town. Anything. Just leave Marik alone,' Malik said.

'That is a tempting offer,' said Bakura, 'but I'm afraid I will have to decline.' He pressed the gun closer to Marik's neck, and Marik gasped.

'What the hell do you want, then?' Malik asked.

'I already have what I want,' said Bakura. The voice sent shivers down Marik's spine. 'I commend you on your taste, Malik. Marik here is a pretty one. I think I shall keep him for myself.' Bakura smirked. Marik gulped. He had a feeling that what was coming up next was not going to be good.

'You wouldn't dare...' said Malik darkly.

'Why ever not?' asked Bakura, grinning wickedly. 'You can have the pleasure of watching.'

'Bakura – don't you –' shouted Malik, but he was silenced halfway by Bakura pressing a button, making the TV mute.

'Now then,' said Bakura, turning back to a trembling Marik. 'I think this will hurt Malik. Actually, it will probably hurt you too. And I'll enjoy every minute of it. Killing three birds with one stone, hey?'

'Don't touch me!' shrieked Marik, wriggling and trying to get out of the chair. As always, he got nowhere.

'Don't be like that, baby,' teased Bakura. He sat down, straddling Marik in the chair, and leaned in to kiss Marik. Marik tried to turn away, but Bakura grabbed Marik's dirty blonde hair and held him in place.

Bakura's kiss was crushing, and Marik tried to free himself. Bakura's other hand wrapped around Marik's neck, pushing Marik's head forward, leaving no opportunity for escape.

'Malik is a lucky man indeed,' breathed Bakura. Marik had resorted to screaming for help, but Bakura silenced him with another kiss.

Marik stopped struggling eventually, and found that being kissed by Bakura was not very different to being kissed by Malik. They were both dominating bastards.

Bakura took out his knife, and cut the ropes holding Marik.

Marik fought to escape as he shook the ropes off, but Bakura was too strong for him. Bakura pinned him against the wall, and held him there with his body weight. Marik tried to push Bakura off, but found that he couldn't.

'I like them feisty,' whispered Bakura. He grabbed Marik's wrists and held them above his head, pushing them against the wall.

'You're a sicko,' said Marik angrily.

'Oh come on,' said Bakura. 'I know Malik likes it like this too.'

Marik tried to escape Bakura's grasp, but Bakura proceeded to drag him out of the room.

'Time to find a bed,' Bakura said, facing the TV and talking to Malik. 'See you later.' He winked as he opened the door and dragged a protesting Marik away.

x.x.x

An hour later, Marik lay handcuffed to the head of the bed, exhausted. Bakura sat on the side of the bed, satisfied as he smirked down at Marik.

'Say it,' said Bakura, the superiority seeping off his skin.

'Say what?' asked Marik.

'I'm fucking amazing,' said Bakura proudly.

'You're full of shit,' Marik lied. To be honest, the night with Bakura was exotic and exciting and had made Marik's heart race, and not just because he was wondering whether Bakura would kill him when the night was done.

Bakura crawled over and kneeled over Marik.

'Need me to show you again?' he asked sleazily.

'I hate you,' said Marik, casting a hateful look at Bakura.

'I'm sure,' said Bakura. 'I'm better than Malik, aren't I?' he asked cockily.

'Would you just shut up?' Marik asked irritably. In one night he had been kidnapped, tied up, handcuffed, and had cheated on his boyfriend as well as almost dying. He was bound to be a little testy.

Bakura simply smirked.

'Will you let me go?' asked Marik.

'No, I like you right where you are,' said Bakura, winking at Marik. Marik sighed.

'There's one thing I wanted to ask you,' said Marik, thinking back to the case.

'What, dear?' mocked Bakura.

'You said you only killed five people...' started Marik.

'I didn't kill them. I sent people to kill them,' corrected Bakura.

'Yes, yes,' Marik snapped.

'Don't tempt me, it could become six soon,' said Bakura dangerously. Marik wasn't worried at all. It was clear that Bakura wasn't going to kill him – he would much rather keep Marik around after that heated night.

'Don't bullshit,' Marik said. 'There were six murders, though. The last one was the drug dealer himself...'

Bakura shrugged, and turned his handsome face to Marik, the full force of Bakura's stare hitting Marik straight in the chest.

'I didn't kill any drug dealers,' said Bakura. 'I'm not that stupid.'

'Then who killed the drug dealer? It must have been connected,' said Marik, the cogs in his brain starting to turn.

Bakura lay back down beside Marik and wrapped strong arms around his waist.

'From the person who orchestrated five out of six of those murders, I can pretty safely say the last one wasn't connected,' Bakura breathed into Marik's ear, sending shivers of pleasure down Marik's spine. 'It was just a coincidence.'


	3. Elevator Love

Okay, so here's the newest oneshot! :) I was inspired by the FIFA World Cup - I've totally caught the fever! I'm really sad though because Australia is not doing well, we got smashed by Germany and only tied with Ghana :( And Harry Kewell got a red card! I wanted to cry when it happened. I love Harry Kewell.

Anyway, I hope you guys like this and I hope whoever you're supporting in the FIFA goes well :)

-Lauren

x.x.x

**E L E V A T O R L O V E**

The grass was green and the sun was shining – today was a beautiful day for a game of soccer in the park.

Too bad Marik Ishtar was in a massive soccer stadium in the quarter finals of the FIFA World Cup instead.

The crowd was going wild, but he paid them no attention. The thousands of people in the stands could have been miles away for all he cared. He was in another dimension, totally focused.

Marik could see his teammate dribbling the ball up the side, each opponent defender trying and failing to get the ball off him. Marik could see he was running out of steam, and now his teammate was too far out towards the corner – Marik was unmarked so he put his hand up in the air and signalled.

His teammate passed him the ball, and in swift, precise actions, Marik stopped it with his foot, running forwards, the ball an extension of his legs, closer to the goal and then...

Like poetry in motion, the ball flew through the air and slid right through the goalie's hands.

The next few minutes Marik had been delirious, only half aware of his surroundings, as if the spirit of victory had possessed his body. He vaguely remembered stripping his shirt off and running around in circles, screaming with delight. His teammates surrounded him and lifted him up into the air. It was all a blur of ecstasy.

When Marik came back to reality, he was chasing an opponent down the field. It was at this moment that he made his critical mistake. There the ball was – an opening for Marik to steal it. And he took that opportunity, but in doing so, tripped up the player _after_ he had passed the ball on.

The referee blew his whistle, and the harsh noise shook Marik to the core. Some instinct inside him knew he was absolutely fucked.

His fears were confirmed when he saw the ref holding up a crimson red card.

Marik watched in absolute disbelief. Surely his tackle hadn't warranted a red card? There was no arguing with the referee though. Marik blinked to hold back the deluge of swear words that were bound to emerge from his mouth if he abandoned his self control. He stalked off the field in a furious rage.

His coach called to him but Marik walked past. If he stayed on the field any longer, the paparazzi would catch him fuming and the last thing he wanted was the front page news proclaiming how bitchy he had been after the red card. If he was seen to take it gracefully, the panel might not ban him from the next game. Marik walked straight by his teammates on the bench and proceeded to the change rooms, banging the door shut as he entered.

Marik sat down in the change rooms, leaning against the lockers, and closed his eyes. This entire thing had turned into a nightmare. After Marik's goal, they were 2-1 up. They were going to win this match, and then they would be in the semi-finals! But because of this red card, Marik wouldn't be there to support them.

And Marik hadn't even deserved the red card! He hadn't even gotten a yellow card, and previously, his track record was clean. This was just about the worst time in his career to get a red card. The other striker was out with injuries, and there was hardly any chance they would be able to win the semi-finals without the two of them. Marik's team was stuffed, and it was all Marik's fault. Well, not Marik's fault. The referee's fault.

Marik put his head in his hands and sighed.

'So you're going to hide in here for the rest of the game?' a derisive voice called. Marik's head snapped up, and found that his boyfriend was standing in the doorway, leaning to one side in what would have usually been an attractive pose, if Marik had been in the mood.

'Shut up, Bakura,' Marik snapped angrily. He turned away – now was not a time where Marik could put up with Bakura's smartass comments.

Marik Ishtar was a soccer superstar, a striker that was the stuff of legends. He was adored wherever he went, and had millions of fans. Marik was good-looking, skilful, and gentlemanly, not like some of the brat athletes that sport had bred (particularly in rugby). He had scores of teams begging him to sign their contracts, and was the face of Calvin Klein. He had all the money anyone could ever wish for, and a beautiful lifestyle.

The only imperfect thing in Marik's life was his boyfriend, Bakura.

Marik, sometimes, didn't even know why he was going out with Bakura. Bakura was insufferable – bitingly sarcastic, obviously offensive, excessively arrogant, and an absolute asshole. (Other times, especially in bed, Marik knew _exactly_ why he was going out with Bakura).

Bakura Touzoku was not a star soccer player like Marik, but a rugby league player. Marik thought, and had told Bakura multiple times, that rugby was despicable. He hated that rugby was often called football – for heaven's sakes, they didn't even use their feet! Marik said that the game was for barbarians, based on the human instinct to bash the shit out of your opponents. Bakura usually responded by saying 'you know what else is a human instinct? Sex,' and the conversation would turn into something else.

'You're sulking,' Bakura accused.

'I am not,' said Marik bitchily. 'I just didn't deserve the red card.'

'Well, what can I say? I'm proud of you. You're tackling almost like a rugby player now,' said Bakura.

'Go away,' complained Marik.

'Are you going to force me physically out of the room?' asked Bakura teasingly.

'Maybe I will,' said Marik, scowling.

'I'd like to see you try,' mocked Bakura.

Marik, in the tornado of his rage, sprung up from the seat, put his hands on Bakura's shoulders and attempted to push him right out of the doorway.

Bakura was taken by surprise, but he was still a rugby player, so he held his ground, much to Marik's irritation. He didn't get pushed back even a single inch. It was understandable, however – Bakura was up against guys twice Marik's size in rugby – it was unlikely that Marik could ever push him over. Marik was an athletic, fit player – but he was quite skinny and lithe. Bakura, by contrast, had a big frame – broad shoulders and a wide chest, with muscles protruding from his arms like boulders.

'Feisty,' said Bakura, raising his eyebrows.

'Leave me alone,' growled Marik.

'I'd rather not,' said Bakura, placing his hands firmly on Marik's own shoulders. In one swift movement, Bakura pushed Marik back almost effortlessly, the star soccer player barely managing a gasp before he was slammed against a wall.

'Bakura, not now,' Marik complained. He knew exactly what was coming next – he could see the look in Bakura's eyes.

'Really, you didn't give me much of a choice,' Bakura breathed in Marik's ear, sending shivers down Marik's spine. 'You were all hot and sweaty from that soccer game, and you don't know how cute you are when you're angry.'

Marik struggled to get free of Bakura's grasp, but Bakura was too strong. He wasn't going to let Marik escape. He grabbed Marik's wrists and pinned them to the wall above Marik's head.

'Bakura,' whined Marik, as Bakura started to trail kisses down Marik's neck.

'Shh,' said Bakura, silencing Marik with a kiss to the lips. When he pulled away, Marik spoke again, this time a little less whiny.

'I have to watch the rest of the match,' breathed Marik, still squirming slightly.

'This won't take long,' Bakura reassured Marik.

'Oh please,' said Marik, 'knowing you it will take hours.'

'I'm flattered,' said Bakura, smirking. 'But you're not going anywhere.' Bakura's deep brown eyes pinned Marik to the spot.

'Arrogant asshole,' mumbled Marik half-heartedly. Bakura just smiled. He loved playing with Marik – testing the limits of just how far he could push Marik, and how easy it was for him to turn Marik on even when he wasn't in the mood. It was a game to Bakura. Marik would always resist him at first, but Bakura, being stronger and incredibly skilled in the art of seduction, would just hold Marik down until the point where Marik was in the mood and submitted to Bakura's advances. The faster Bakura could achieve arousal in Marik, the more pleased he was to himself.

Marik had almost broken – Bakura could feel his efforts to escape diminishing, and his breathing was starting to get heavy. Bakura went in for another kiss on the lips, and then Marik broke, kissing Bakura back. Bakura congratulated himself in his head and continued kissing his boyfriend.

In a matter of seconds Marik's soccer uniform lay on the ground, discarded.

'See, wasn't that good?' Bakura said, after they had finished. 'Really takes your mind off things.'

Marik scowled at Bakura. He wasn't going to admit that Bakura was right.

'I hate you,' Marik said, without a trace of venom in his voice.

'I know,' purred Bakura.

Marik disentangled himself from Bakura and stood up.

'I'm going back out,' he declared.

'Do whatever you want,' said Bakura casually. Marik walked back outside, and sat down with his other benched teammates and his coach.

'What'd you do in there – take a nap? The game's almost over!' his coach exclaimed. Marik looked at the time, and found that it was 88 minutes into the game.

_Fuck you, Bakura,_ thought Marik. There were only two minutes left.

The last two minutes of the game passed without much action at all, and the final score was 2-1. Marik's team had won, and they were now in the semi-finals. When the whistle blew for full time, Marik rushed onto the field and celebrated with his fellow teammates. Victory was sweet, but the thought of the red card and being suspended from the next game hung like a dark cloud over Marik's thoughts.

In the hotel room, Marik awoke the next day in Bakura's arms. He was the first to get up, as usual. Marik liked the mornings, but Bakura loved to sleep in. He extricated himself from Bakura's grasp and stepped out of bed. Bakura wouldn't be up for another hour or so, so Marik decided to go downstairs and have breakfast first. He put on a light cotton shirt and a pair of trousers, then took the lift down to the lobby.

As he walked from the lobby to the dining hall, eyes followed him. Marik was used to it – people were awed by him wherever he went. He had fans in all corners of the world. Marik just hoped they would leave him alone and not ask for his autograph.

He walked briskly, and reached the dining hall. He got himself some yoghurt and muesli with an Eggs Benedict and sat down contentedly at the table. He got himself a newspaper, and lay it down on the table.

Marik's eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw the front page news. Marik himself was on the front page. There was a picture of him and the referee when he had received the red card, and to his horror, a picture of Bakura and Marik up against the wall.

Marik's heart began to pound, and fear began to fill Marik's system. Surely this was a nightmare – it can't have been real. This was more embarrassing than anything. Even more embarrassing than his pants falling down in the school production. Even more embarrassing than when he came out of the closet last year. Marik held his hands in his head. He didn't know that reporters could get into the change rooms! He could only thank God that Bakura and him had their clothes on in the photo.

The headline read – "Red card a cause for celebration for Ishtar".

Marik was so stressed out he didn't even know how to react. For a while, he just sat there with his hands in his head. Next he ripped up the newspaper and threw it into the bin in a fit of rage. Then, he ate his breakfast with blank eyes. He left the dining hall when he was done.

To his horror, when he passed the front entrance of the hotel, there were reporters everywhere. The hotel porters were trying to shoo them away but the reporters were pushy and had almost broken the barrier. Luckily the hotel manager had the sense to lock the front doors. Marik panicked. When the reporters caught sight of him, a great cheer rose up and the reporters became even more desperate to get inside. Marik ran away from the front entrance and straight to the elevators.

He went back to the room and opened the door, absolutely flustered. This was a disaster.

'Bakura!' called Marik.

'Mm, what?' came the muffled voice of Bakura from the bedroom. Marik flung open the bedroom door and collapsed onto the bed in a heap.

'Marik?' Bakura asked, looking quizzically at his boyfriend. Marik looked like he was having a nervous breakdown.

'Marik?' Bakura asked again, after a few seconds in which Marik remained silent.

Marik sat up and looked at Bakura. Marik looked infinitely tired.

'Bakura... do you know what is on the front page of the newspaper today?' Marik whispered.

'What?' Bakura asked. No smart comments, no sarcastic answers. Bakura knew Marik was _really_ stressed out. The first stage of stress for Marik was anger and frustration. The second stage, which was exponentially more serious, was the silent, shell shocked stage.

'Us. In the change room. They got a picture,' Marik said quietly.

Bakura shrugged. Really, it was nothing new. Since Marik and Bakura had been public about their relationship, the media had attacked them. Every little move they made was watched, and every few weeks there was some sort of article about the gay rugby and soccer couple. There had been a couple of headliners, when they had first come out, but gradually the interest had died and the headlines of the sport page were taken up by rugby players involved in rape cases. Really, compared to the rest of his team, Bakura had a relatively un-scandalous sex life.

Bakura ignored it. The media was a pack of ravenous wolves that would dig up dirt on anyone so they could sell papers, and honestly, Bakura didn't give a shit what everyone else thought of him.

However, slowly, little by little, the attention had got to Marik. He was often embarrassed about their relationship. When reporters asked him about him and Bakura, he evaded the questions.

It didn't help that Bakura had a fetish for kissing in public places.

The other day, they had been driving on the highway. Bakura had taken the wheel and Marik was relaxing in the front seat, they were talking normally until Bakura suddenly pulled over into a bay at the side of the highway, one of those Stop Revive Survive centres where they encourage you to take a break every few hours of driving so that you don't fall asleep at the wheel and crash.

'Bakura, what are you doing? We've only been driving for 2 hours,' Marik complained, rolling his eyes.

'Marik, falling asleep at the wheel is a serious issue – it could be the difference between life and death,' Bakura teased.

'What are you planning, Bakura?' Marik asked, narrowing his eyes. He knew Bakura didn't give a shit about stopping, reviving and surviving. Bakura was up to something, as per usual.

'Nothing,' said Bakura in mock innocence, smiling in a way Marik found fairly unsettling. 'Come on, get out, don't you want to get some coffee?'

'We just had coffee at lunch,' mumbled Marik, stepping out of the car reluctantly.

As soon as he walked around to Bakura's side, Bakura grabbed his shoulders and pushed him up against the car. Marik struggled in his grasp, but Bakura wouldn't let go.

'What are you doing?' Marik hissed.

Bakura didn't answer, just leaned in and kissed Marik demandingly on the lips.

'Bakura, stop it!' Marik barked angrily, as Bakura moved from Marik's lips to his neck. 'There are people around! You're embarrassing me!'

'Ok, how about in the car then?' said Bakura. He wrapped his arm around Marik's waist, pulled him away from the car door so that he could open the door to the back seat.

'Hell no,' said Marik, realising that Bakura wanted to have sex in the back seat.

'Come on,' breathed Bakura in Marik's ear. Marik was enjoying Bakura's kisses slightly, but there was no way he was doing it in the back seat! At a rest stop! With people around!

'No, no, no,' said Marik, trying to push Bakura away. Bakura just pushed Marik into the back seat, lying him flat and pinning him down before resuming kissing. Marik squirmed and struggled, but his protests only made Bakura push down harder.

Bakura quickly shut the door and lay on top of Marik, face to face.

'Bakura, I'm not doing it in the back seat!' Marik complained.

'You don't really have a choice, I'm afraid,' growled Bakura. He kept kissing Marik until Marik felt his desire for Bakura override his embarrassment and he kissed Bakura back.

And that hadn't been the only time Bakura had embarrassed him in public.

The first time Bakura and Marik had been invited to a fancy movie premiere as a couple was the last time. It was a new romantic comedy, and neither Bakura and Marik were actors but they were celebrities and the people who made the movie wanted to have as high-profile a premiere as possible.

So after much convincing, Marik had managed to drag Bakura out to the screening. Even though there were only a few other sports stars there, Marik and Bakura didn't fall short of the glamour that the high-profile event required. The beautiful actresses arrived in full-length dresses, their make-up immaculate. The men were tall and handsome, with sharp suits.

Bakura and Marik had both been blessed with good looks and their athleticism made their bodies far outshine those of the actors. Bakura had worn the only suit he owned – a simple black tux with a white shirt, whereas Marik had branched out and worn a grey shirt rolled up at the sleeves, a pair of black pants and a violet tie.

The paparazzi got their fair share of pictures of the couple, Bakura with his arm protectively around Marik's waist that would appear in every magazine the very next day.

Bakura had nuzzled Marik's neck as the opening credits started, but Marik pushed him away. They were only a few seats away from the stars of the movie and Marik felt slightly embarrassed.

The movie was quite boring, to be honest. It was the typical romantic comedy – boy meets girl in a funny circumstance, verbal sparring, sexual tension, bla bla bla. Marik could see that Bakura was getting bored. Marik tried to be interested in the movie – he really did – but it was really absolute drivel.

Bakura shifted closer next to Marik, and did the old "yawn and then wrap your arm around the girlfriend" trick. Marik tried not to giggle as he felt Bakura's strong arm wrap around his shoulders. He let his head rest on Bakura's shoulders.

'Boring shit, isn't it?' Bakura whispered.

'Shhhh,' whispered Marik back, furiously. 'People will hear you.'

'How about we do something more interesting?' Bakura asked seductively, looking down at Marik with intense brown eyes.

'No!' hissed Marik. 'We're surrounded by people.'

'That's the point. Plus they don't call it a _romantic_ comedy for nothing, hm?' Bakura said cheekily.

'No!' whispered Marik furiously. He could see the couple onscreen going in for a kiss, but Marik was quite preoccupied with the events in reality.

Bakura ignored Marik's protests, leaned over and kissed Marik passionately. Marik moved around in the seat, trying to push Bakura off. He could feel eyes on him. The movie was hardly riveting, and all the celebrities around were interested in a little gossip. They were all watching Bakura make out with him.

'Bakura, stop, everyone's looking,' said Marik, mortified. Bakura began to undo Marik's shirt buttons, paying no respect to the smaller boy's words.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marik could see the stars of the show looking at him in disgust. Marik felt himself blush with embarrassment. Bakura really had a knack for getting him into embarrassing situations. Marik pushed Bakura off and sat in the seat with his arms crossed, glaring at Bakura.

'What? It was just a little bit of fun,' said Bakura, smirking.

'If I hadn't stopped you, you would have had sex right here in the cinema, wouldn't you?' clucked Marik with irritation.

'Sure,' said Bakura. 'That sounds good.' He licked his lips. Marik rolled his eyes. Bakura leaned in for another kiss, this time more forceful, pushing Marik up against the back of the seat and sitting on his lap. This time there was no stopping Bakura.

Needless to say, the infamous couple were never invited to another movie premiere again.

Still, Bakura had kept embarrassing Marik.

Bakura had insisted on kissing and sometimes having sex everywhere – on the beach, in the park, in the backyard, in the front yard, on the bus, in airports, on aeroplanes, in public toilets, in change rooms, during half time, once even in the middle of the field when most of the fans had left.

Luckily, ever since one incident where the paparazzi had gotten too close to them and Bakura had smashed the poor photographer's camera on the ground and proceeded to almost strangle the guy, the paparazzi had pulled back. But still, articles about the gay couple would turn up every once and again in the sports page, especially when Bakura had been inclined to show public displays of affection.

God. Thinking about it made Marik irritable. Sure, he loved Bakura, but did he have to be so damn forward in public? Marik didn't want the attention from the paparazzi – it stressed him out. He worried about what people would think about him. Bakura constantly told Marik not to worry, but he still did.

And now there was a picture of them kissing in the change rooms on the front page of the newspaper.

'Calm down,' said Bakura, laying a firm hand on Marik's shoulders. 'It's just a photo, and the hype will die down soon enough.'

Marik was quite inconsolable, however.

'It's a disaster,' he declared. 'I might as well shoot myself right now.'

'Don't be a drama queen,' said Bakura. 'I know how to make it better.' He smiled slightly at Marik and kissed him softly, and Marik was too tired to resist the feeling of ecstasy that rose up inside him.

x.x.x

The press conference to deal with the situation was the next day. Bakura and Marik had agreed to talk to a small group of reporters in the hotel lobby, at the instruction of their managers. Bakura wrapped his arm protectively around Marik, shielding him from the photographers that were flooding in.

They sat down on the couch and the reporters immediately shoved microphones into their faces.

'Marik Ishtar, is it true that after you were given a red card and sent off you proceeded to have sex with Bakura Touzoku in the change rooms?' asked a reporter.

'No, that is what _you_ infer from your photographer snooping around,' snapped Marik irritably. He was keeping his mind on places he'd rather be. In the Bahamas. In bed, sleeping. In bed, with Bakura. On the soccer field. On the bench. In the back seat of a car, with Bakura. Anywhere else but here.

'But we have photographic evidence of you two in the change rooms together following you being sent off!' the reporter said.

'Isn't a man allowed to have some time with his boyfriend?' Bakura growled viciously. The reporters stepped back. Bakura was quite feared among the paparazzi.

'But don't you agree that it is rather inappropriate after he has just been sent off the soccer field?' a particularly brave reporter asked.

'It is our relationship, and not up to you to judge what is appropriate and inappropriate,' said Marik diplomatically, scowling at the reporters. 'If it had been a husband kissing his wife in the change rooms, this would have not even been a story.'

'Look,' said Bakura, glaring at the reporters. 'this whole thing is not Marik's fault. The red card was undeserved, and what occurred after was my fault. You see, he's just too irresistible.'

Bakura's arm wrapped tighter around Marik's shoulder, and he leaned in for a kiss. The photographers were going mad, the camera clicks echoing around the room. Marik tried to pull away but Bakura kept pushing forward, until the room was hot and steamy and the reporters were lost for words.

Finally, Marik broke away and jumped off the couch, furious. He glared down at Bakura, his face contorted with anger.

'Fuck you!' Marik shouted at Bakura, then stormed off.

Bakura had embarrassed him again. He couldn't even keep it in his pants during the interview. This was the one thing they needed to do for damage control, and Bakura had stuffed it up and probably made the situation worse. Marik stormed to the elevators, wondering what Bakura was telling the reporters now. He spotted one photographer trying to follow him, but pushed him away roughly as the elevator doors closed. Marik stormed down the corridor to his room once he had reached his floor, flung all his belongings into one bag and dragged the suitcase out. He was leaving. He had had enough of Bakura. Marik didn't know where he was going, but he knew it was going to be somewhere far, far away. He had a week off because he wasn't in the next game because of the red card. He would take an aeroplane and leave Bakura here. God, Marik was furious.

The elevator doors opened with a 'bing!' and to Marik's horror, he saw Bakura standing in the elevator. Before Marik could react, Bakura grabbed his collar and pulled him into the elevator.

'Let go of me,' said Marik, fighting Bakura off.

'No,' said Bakura firmly, spinning Marik around and pushing him up against the wall roughly. The elevator doors closed and Bakura slammed a hand on the emergency button, causing the elevator to stop moving, like Gibbs in NCIS.

They were alone now, in the dim light of the elevator. Marik stared hatefully up at Bakura, who had his hands on Marik's shoulders and held him there with the weight of his body.

'Why the hell did you have to do that?' asked Marik venomously.

'Couldn't help myself,' said Bakura, smirking.

'You're a horny bastard,' said Marik, no trace of playfulness in his voice. 'That was our damage control, and you stuffed it up. You made me look like an absolute fool!'

Marik tried to aim a punch at Bakura's stomach, but Bakura caught Marik's wrists and gripped it tightly.

'Calm down, stupid,' said Bakura, trying to soothe Marik. He grabbed Marik's other wrists and held them against the wall as Marik struggled.

Marik hated that Bakura was stronger than him. He was so angry he wanted to punch Bakura in the face and see the blood spurt from his nose. But Bakura had his arms pinned above his head and though Marik was struggling, Bakura was far too strong. Bakura was always making trouble for Marik, and he always got what he wanted while Marik was left embarrassed and ashamed of their relationship. How could Bakura not care what other people thought of him?

'Marik, listen to me,' said Bakura, staring at Marik seriously. 'Why do you care so much about what the public think of you?'

'Because I have a sense of pride, and the ability to be embarrassed, unlike you!' shouted Marik, scowling at Bakura.

'Who are the public? They're a bunch of strangers being fed by bloodthirsty reporters. You don't know any of them – you don't care about them. Why are you so worried about your public image?' Bakura asked.

'Bakura, we're gay! And I came out so that I could be with you in public. Isn't that enough?' Marik asked exasperatedly. 'Why do you have to make it worse?'

'You're not answering the question,' said Bakura calmly. 'I asked, why do you care what the public think of you?'

'I-I don't know, they're my fans, and I –' Marik was quite lost for words.

'Exactly,' said Bakura. 'Who cares? The people you really care about, now those are who you should be worried about. Ishizu, Odion, your friends, and of course, me,' said Bakura, smirking.

'You make my life bloody hard, why would I care about you?' Marik snapped.

'Of course I make your life _hard_,' said Bakura suggestively. Marik rolled his eyes. 'But come on, Marik. I've seen you getting stressed. Why do you let it get to you? It's damaging our relationship.'

Marik sighed, the anger starting to dissipate.

'It's not you – it's just I don't know why they have to always attack us like this,' said Marik tiredly. 'I hate it.'

Bakura watched Marik with big brown eyes, and started to run his fingers through Marik's soft hair, not saying a word.

'It's just so unfair,' Marik said softly. 'I mean, none of the other players on my team get half the publicity I do – and they have wives and girlfriends! Why can't the media be obsessed with their relationship instead of mine? And the guys on your team – half of them are out on the weekends with random girls and committing sex scandals and still it's you they go after – the only one in a healthy, long-term relationship.'

Bakura didn't say a word, just looked intensely at Marik with his deep stare. Marik waited for Bakura's reaction.

After a couple of seconds of silence, Bakura leaned in and kissed Marik. Marik was dying for comfort of some kind, and so wrapped his arms around Bakura and kissed back. It felt good. All Marik wanted to do was be here with Bakura, kissing, loving each other, with no one to watch. It was quite a beautiful moment.

Neither of the two noticed the lift start up again – they were too involved in their embrace. The lift reached the lobby, and the doors opened slowly to reveal a crowd of reporters and photographers, going mad once they saw the sight that the elevator doors revealed.

The click of cameras brought Marik to reality, and to his horror, saw the place crawling with the media.

'Oh, fuck it,' muttered Bakura. He glared at the entire mob of reporters, then continued kissing Marik passionately.

Marik didn't resist this time, he kissed back and pressed the button to close the elevator doors, leaving the reporters behind as the silver metal doors closed and took Bakura and him toward the sky.


End file.
